


Protective Instincts: A Guide to Demonstrate Why One Should Never Fuck With a Ghost Cub

by anxiety_and_all_its_subsequent_failings



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Danny is Confused and Disgusted, Depictions of Illness, Depictions of violence against a child, Don't worry Spectra makes it better, Dont' Look at me I don't make the rules, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone else is just amused, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Ghosts act like wolves sometimes and I'm here for it 'kay?, Growling, I Will ROW THIS BOAT ALL BY MY DAMN SELF, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Not Ashamed, Protective Instincts, Reign Storm AU, Sleepy Cuddles, Spectra is a Tsundere, Spectra protecc, Walker is Soft and In Love, Welcome to Rarepair Hell kiddies, Y'all should be ashamed, You're sleeping on a perfectly good pairing and you should be ASHAMED, Youngblood is smol soft babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiety_and_all_its_subsequent_failings/pseuds/anxiety_and_all_its_subsequent_failings
Summary: Pariah Dark is a giant, genocidal bag of dicks, which is why everyone flees the Ghost Zone after he escapes.Sadly, however, there are certain children are caught in the crossfire, and, damn it all, Penelope picked NOW of all times to develop a conscience.(Alternatively: In an alternate universe of Reign Storm, Penelope Spectra has That One Line that she doesn't like to see crossed, blows up some skeletons (who are total dicks btw), and makes herself sick to protect a cub. Walker is Upset. Danny is just. . . confused and vaguely disgusted.Welcome to the Shit-Show)
Relationships: Penelope Spectra & Youngblood, Penelope Spectra/Walker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	Protective Instincts: A Guide to Demonstrate Why One Should Never Fuck With a Ghost Cub

Pariah Dark was a monster, and his soldiers were _giant_ dick-bags.

Coming from Penelope, that said a lot.

She blasted another set of bone-soldiers away, core thrumming too-hot in her chest, and growled as they began re-forming moments later. It’d been a bitch and a half trying to reverse the Phantom kid’s bullshit with her new form, and she still wasn’t quite up to full speed. But she didn’t have to worry about aging years in minutes, either, and the soldiers in of themselves weren’t strong enough to concern her at this point. The problem was that there were so damn many of them. It was like smashing ants. Or radioactive cockroaches. Kill ten and ten _thousand_ took their place.

Another sweeping blast of ectoplasm gave her a window to head towards the portal, and Penelope was off like a shot. The Ghost Zone was crawling with these bony bastards. She didn’t want to risk getting overwhelmed. _Again_. Wind rushed in her ears, ripping at her hair, and she had to resist the urge to morph back into a shade. It would take too much energy. Energy she just didn’t have at the moment, thank you very fucking much.

God, this was annoying.

Some low-level ghost smashed into her from the side, panicking as it tried to escape the onslaught of soldiers. Penelope snarled, eyes flashing vermillion, and grabbed the stupid thing by the throat. Her smile was more of a savage grimace, sharp eye-teeth on display, and the other ghost screamed as she tossed it back in the direction she’d come from. There was a tiny moment where she felt almost normal, grinning back at the blob of ectoplasm she’d just sentenced to annihilation.

Then another blast of ectoplasm _just_ missed her left ear, a sword following right after, and the illusion was ruined.

Penelope turned and started flying again, dodging rocks and ghosts alike as she made her way towards the Fenton portal. Literally the _only_ good thing that had ever come out of Amity Park. Ever. Okay, so maybe Phantom was fun to toy with sometimes, but _shit_ was he annoying. Who the fuck made puns in the middle of fight? On purpose?! She growled and rolled away from another sweeping ecto-blast. Focus, Penelope, not the time to think about obnoxious fourteen-year-old heroes.

A familiar voice, high-pitched and panicked, caught her attention from nearby.

She glanced to her left for a second. And promptly fucking froze, a snarl building deep in her chest as she watched.

Youngblood – really? for God’s sake, he was _ten_ , why was he always alone? – struggled against a horde of bone-soldiers, panic written on his chubby face as he tried to get away from the dozens of hands clawing at him. His cybernetic arm had been torn away. His leg kept giving out. There were gouges along his cheeks, in his remaining arm, clothes torn, and bruises had already started blooming near his eyes.

~~cub it’s a cub protect cub no no no protect cub _not okay_~~

“Get off me, you stupid boneheads!!” he snapped. “That freakin’ _hurts_ , stop it!! Get off me! _Lemme go!!!_ ”

Okay, so maybe she fed on human teenage misery and was a self-admitted bitch ninety percent of the time. So maybe she didn’t particularly like kids. . . over the age of twelve, anyway. So she maybe, sort-of, kind-of once convinced Klemper that it was okay to give Aragorn a hug because she was bored and wanted to see what would happen.

But the fact remained that she did _not_ like it when _grown-ass ghosts_ attacked _cubs_ for _no apparent reason_. ~~cub baby small no keep safe keep _safe_~~

It made her want to punch a bitch in the face.

So that was what she did.

Penelope hadn’t realized she was moving towards the mob of skeletons until her fist collided with one’s jawbone. A swarm of empty eye-sockets turned towards her. Youngblood looked up with wide, confused eyes, ectoplasm weeping from a cut on his brow. Her core was too hot. It was thrumming in her ears, whining at the amount of energy she’d used, the skin on her palms itching against the plasma building there.

“Leave the cub alone,” she hissed.

Several of the soldiers chittered at her in a wordless threat, bones rattling, and one lifted its sword to Youngblood’s throat. The kid whimpered, a fat drop of ectoplasm weeping down his neck as the blade bit in. Another grabbed a big handful of his hair and _yanked_. Youngblood started crying ~~cub is crying not okay baby crying cub cub cub _protect_~~.

Youngblood, the little shit who’d once dumped a full tray of figgy-pudding on her head and laughed at how angry she’d been, was _crying_.

Penelope saw red.

She could feel her veins start to heat up, leaking thick lines of black over her limbs and face, and she snarled at the closest soldier. It lunged for her. She dodged, slamming a plasma-covered fist into the bottom of its jaw and blasting upwards. Bones shattered under the force. She grinned, expression near-feral as she twisted to face the next one. Three swarmed her at once, trying to use numbers to their advantage. It didn’t matter, though. Penelope grabbed one by the spine, vertebrae cracking ominously under her grip, and used it as a makeshift club against the others. They rolled away, distracting a few of the others enough to give her a leg-up as she rushed them.

It became a blur of ~~protect cub~~ crushed bones and glancing blows ~~keep cub safe~~ and ectoplasm ~~no more crying~~. Someone was screaming in the background.

Then Penelope blinked, and she was panting over the splintered, broken remains of a skeleton, ectoplasm weeping from a gash in her cheek. Her hands were shaking. Everything _ached_. She glanced down and noticed the skin of her knuckles starting to bleed, palms red and burned from the amount of plasma she’d been using.

“P-Penelope?”

She turned. Youngblood stared up at her from the wreckage, all wide eyes and a snotty nose. Ectoplasm was dripping from a fresh split in his lip. He looked _terrified_. And something about that didn’t sit right in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. Unclenched her fists even though it made her knuckles scream.

“Are you okay?” she rasped, and why was her throat so raw? “Did they hurt you?”

. . . that was a stupid fucking question, his goddamn _arm_ was gone.

Youngblood’s lower lip trembled, and he sniffled, scrubbing at his eyes with one sleeve. “I’m okay. . . Um, y-you’re bleeding.” He tapped his left cheek. “It looks like it hurts.”

It did. It hurt like a motherfucker. But the kid didn’t need to know that. Penelope managed a wheezing laugh and waved him off.

“It’s not that bad, brat,” she coughed. “I’ve had worse. Are you good to fly? We need to get out of here before Bonejangles and the Skeleton Crew arrive as backup.”

Even though her skin felt like it was peeling off and her core was _throbbing_ in her chest, Penelope offered the kid a hand up. He looked ready to curl in a ball and sob. Youngblood gnawed on his lower lip for a second, eyes darting from her face to her hand and back. Then he took it, stumbling a bit as he tried to stand. It was obvious he wasn’t going to be able to stay upright without help, much less fucking fly, and Penelope cursed herself for being fucking soft.

She sighed and ignored the angry pulse of heat in her chest. “Alright, kid, let’s get going.”

“I’m fine,” Youngblood squeaked out, reading her expression. “I can fly, honest!”

Penelope snorted and snatched him up. “Yeah, no, I don’t think so. You’ve got a bad leg, one arm, and your version of honesty leaves something to be desired.”

The wide-eyed, panicked look in his eyes didn’t alleviate as she set off for the portal again, and Penelope frowned, shifting his weight over her hips a bit. His teeth chattered, skin a little clammy, probably a reaction of shock. The one hand he had left clung too hard to the back of her neck. It was going to leave a bruise. There was another blast of ectoplasm from behind them, soldiers chittering and ghosts screeching as they fled their lairs. Youngblood flinched and buried himself against her collarbone.

“Kid, it’s gonna be fine,” she tried to soothe. “They’re not going to get you again.”

Okay, so she didn’t _actually_ know whether or not they were going to end up as one of Pariah’s fuck-monkeys. But the kid was too scared to notice how heavily she was breathing or how the lower-level ghosts were starting to catch up with them. He didn’t need to know that they were, in fact, in the deepest shit possible. She just wanted him to stop _crying_ , dammit. It made her chest hurt. And not in the “I’m-about-to-run-out-of-juice-oh-shit” way she was used to.

Youngblood hiccupped, voice so small she could barely hear it over the rush of ectoplasm in her ears. “I couldn’t get away. No one would help me an’ I couldn’t get away.”

Her jaw tightened. Partly because _what the fuck_ , he was a damn _cub_ , why would no one help him? And partially because her core was _screaming_ in her chest, drained to near-empty as she barrel-rolled away from another blast of ectoplasm. She could see the portal up ahead, the flood of ghosts shoving their way through it. Youngblood kept shaking. God, when had he gotten so damn heavy?!

“Hey, Penny! Head’s up!”

Oh, thank fuck.

She whipped her head towards the familiar voice and didn’t even attempt a smile, just fixing him with an exhausted scowl. Johnny brought his bike to a skidding halt next to them, hair wind-swept and forehead creased in a frown. Penelope wheezed as another bolt of ectoplasm struck down a ghost thirty yards to their left. Not because she was scared. But because Youngblood squeaked and shoved his head so hard into her throat it cut off her airway.

“Yo, what the hell happened?!” Johnny shouted. “You look awful.”

It took everything in Penelope not to waste what little energy she had left and just blast the _fuck_ out of Johnny. Even with Youngblood clinging to her like a terrified spider-monkey, the thought was tempting. She settled for glaring at him, snarl building in the back of her throat.

“Pariah’s soldiers are dicks,” she ground out, “and they ripped off his arm. So I broke a skull or two. It’s not hard to figure out.”

Johnny lifted an eyebrow. “And you helped him because. . . ?”

. . . . okay, she’d be fine on her own, and he could fuck _right_ off.

“Look, asshole, I’m running on empty and the kid can’t fly,” Penelope snapped. “So can you either _help us_ or screw off!”

There was another round of screaming, the mob of ghosts surging forward as the bottleneck started to unplug, and Johnny’s expression grew uncharacteristically serious. He jerked his chin forward and revved the bike.

“Get on,” he ordered. “Kitty’s already made it through. We gotta spot in Amity Park lined up with Skulker and some others.”

 _Finally_. . .

Penelope made a note to punch him in the dick later, but for now, she focused on getting Youngblood to let go and sit in front of Johnny. He was shaking, still crying a bit, and her chest hurt from more than just her depleted core. Gently, she settled him in the bike seat, shushing him a bit as she did so. She slid in behind Johnny and wrapped her arms around both him and Youngblood, trying to ignore the squirm in her gut when a little hand squeezed her fingers tight.

The bike roared underneath them, smoke flying from the tail pipes, and Penelope buried her face in Johnny’s back as they surged forward. Her legs were burning from the heat of the engine. As she glanced out, ghosts and the Zone itself were little more than faceless blurs. Johnny was yelling senseless bullshit to get people out of the way. She could feel the baby-hairs along her neck rising. The portal was close. _Very_ close.

And then they were passing through, ecto-radiation pulsing over her skin and making her core _scream_ with the effort of keeping her from disintegrating. Penelope screwed her eyes shut. Gritted her teeth. Youngblood had such a tight hold on her fingers it felt like they would snap off. It was loud, crackling static and a roaring engine and ghosts screaming as they tried to get away from Pariah’s soldiers. The popping, horrible feeling of radiation on her eardrums.

Johnny’s bike exploded into the living world, leaving her gasping for breath and shaking as he phased through a nearby wall. Everything felt fuzzy. Her head was spinning. Her mouth was dry. Penelope felt like absolute _shit_ and, for a second, she regretted stopping to help the brat ~~cub baby safe~~ because this _blew_. Core depletion was dangerous. _Especially_ when you had to go through a concentrated portal full of ecto-radiation. And this wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if she’d just carried on her merry fucking way.

Youngblood squeezed her fingers again and hiccupped, and Penelope felt her irritation fade.

God fuck-it, maybe she was getting soft.

The bike drove at break-neck speed through the air, hovering above the streets, and Penelope glanced down to look at the chaos below. Windows were being broken by ghosts and humans alike. Humans ran screaming before troops of soldiers. Cars had been smashed. Smoke trailed through the air. The wind rushed in her ears and tore at her hair, but she could still hear the absolute mayhem that Pariah’s little shits were causing.

Her head still swam, but Penelope couldn’t help but sigh in relief as Johnny touched down on the roof of a nearby building.

“Alright, kiddies, fun-ride’s over,” Johnny quipped. “Get off my baby.”

Penelope rolled her eyes, and if she were feeling _any_ better, she’d have punched him in the back of the head. Instead, she swept off the bike and ignored how bad her legs were shaking. Johnny passed her Youngblood a few seconds later. Which she _was not_ expecting. But the kid burrowed right back into her chest again, clinging on like a koala with one arm and both legs, and Penelope resigned herself to whatever fate the universe had dealt her.

“Where are we even going, dumbass?” she growled.

Okay, his snaggle-toothed smug grin was going to get him in _trouble_. Because it made her want to shove her fist down his throat. Johnny snorted and slouched his way past them. “Should you really be cussing like that in front of the kid, Penny? It ain’t classy, babe.”

“I will fucking bury you, Johnny, don’t push me.”

Youngblood sniffled into her neck and muttered, “’m not a fuckin’ baby. You don’t have to talk like I’m not here.”

Frowning, Penelope shifted his weight again, and tapped him on the thigh. “Watch your mouth! Or I’ll toss you back to the soldiers again.”

It. . .it was an instinct. Some sort of deep-seated programming that forced her to say things. It had to be. There was no other explanation because it wasn’t like she _liked_ the kid or anything ~~cub cub he’s a cub protect cub little baby keep safe _protect_~~.

Penelope froze, eyes wide, and forced herself to look anywhere but at Johnny. Who was cackling where he stood a few feet away. Youngblood stiffened, tremors starting to run along his whole body. She could feel tears on her neck again.

“I’m sorry!” he wheezed. “I’m sorry! Please don’t send me back out there, Penelope, I’m _sorry_.”

Shit. _Shit_. Why was she so bad at this?!

Slouching up beside them, Johnny snorted and shot her a dirty look. Which was stupid because he’d been cackling not five seconds ago. “Wayta go, _Pen_. Make the kid cry, why don’tcha?”

Penelope legitimately growled. “Shut. The _fuck_. Up.”

“Whatever. Everyone’s downstairs waiting. Come down or don’t, I don’t give a shit.”

With that, he phased through the roof of the building, leaving Penelope alone with a crying ten-year-old. Perfect. After all the fuckery she’d dealt with today, this was just the cherry on top of a shit-sundae. She could _feel_ her core throbbing in her temples. Stressed, bruised, still-bleeding, and fucking _exhausted_ , Penelope squeezed Youngblood a bit closer to her chest, one hand cupped against the back of his head.

“Oh, c’mon, kid, I wouldn’t _actually_ throw you back to the soldiers,” she huffed. “You just need to watch your mouth, and I’m tired. Quit crying, it’s okay. You’re fine.”

Youngblood hiccupped against her throat. “Y-you won’t let ‘em get m-me?”

“No, brat, I won’t let them hurt you again,” Penelope soothed. “Just take a deep breath so we can go in with our dignity intact.”

Slowly, Youngblood lifted his head from the crook of her neck and looked at her. He sniffled, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, and something ~~cub baby protect don’t cry little baby no no no don’t cry, cub, keep you safe~~ in Penelope’s gut twisted again. “Y-you threw that one ghost back to them,” the kid croaked. “I saw. You laughed at them, too.”

Fuck, he’d seen that?

Penelope could feel her legs trying to give out on her. Her arms were shaking under the little brat’s weight. But she couldn’t just _leave him_ like this. She was a bitch, yes, but Youngblood was ten. He was tired, scared, hurt, and confused. The way he looked at her just ~~cub cub cub smile baby cub protect~~. . .

It didn’t sit right.

“Youngblood, I would never throw you back to the soldiers,” she admitted quietly.

“Really?” he croaked.

“Really. I tossed that other ghost because they didn’t matter. They were grown. You? You’re a kid. And you might be a little shit, but I’m not just going to let them beat the crap out of you or take you anywhere. Ok?”

It was probably the most heartfelt speech she’d ever made in her damn _life_ , and Penelope didn’t quite know how she felt about that. But the terror seeped out of Youngblood’s tiny frame, eyes a little less wet, and he managed a wobbly smile.

“Thanks, Penelope,” Youngblood warbled.

Despite still feeling like shit, Penelope couldn’t help but smile back. “You’re welcome, brat. But if you tell _anyone_ that, I’ll fucking break you in half. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he squeaked, eyes wide.

“Good – now let’s go inside. I’m ready to collapse.”

She wasn’t lying, either. Every single inch of her body was begging her to sit down. How _dare_ she use that much energy all at once?! It was like her nerves were staging a coup. Because they didn’t just burn. They ached and throbbed and did every other adjective for pain she could think of. Which was absolutely not okay. But it wasn’t like the kid needed to know that.

So when Youngblood rested his head back on her shoulder, chest still hitching a bit from crying, Penelope didn’t say a word of protest. She gritted her teeth and summoned the last few dregs of energy she had to phase through the roof. They ended up in the main showroom of a sport store.

Typical – Skulker couldn’t just pick a building that actually had some strategic value. It had to have hunting supplies.

Penelope felt her knees give out when she finally faded back into existence, and her stomach twisted violently in protest. The world spun. Vomit tried to crawl its way up her throat. Then Youngblood whimpered against her throat. So she swallowed down bile, ground her teeth, and tried to get up.

Except she couldn’t.

Not before Technus had snatched Youngblood away from her, loudly (i.e. annoyingly) lamenting over the loss of his handiwork. Because, of course, it was the problematic loss of technology that upset him rather than the fact that soldiers decided to snatch a literal cub’s fucking arm. Penelope felt herself sneer a bit. But she _actually_ couldn’t move? It was like her legs were just. . . rocks. Big ass rocks. That had absolutely no motor function. Not to mention her arms were trembling with the effort of holding her body upright.

Well, that was convenient.

“Pen, what _happened_?!”

. . . . oh, God, Walker was here.

How could she just _not know_ Walker was going to be here?! What the literal fuck was her life anymore?!

He slid to a stop next to her, already crouched down, and his hands flitted all over trying to assess how injured she was. Which was _not_ sweet. Not at all. It was disgusting how much he cared, and, no, it absolutely did not make her core do a weird flip-flop just thinking about it. Penelope swallowed thickly and forced herself to look him in the eye. Which was like getting stabbed because he looked about three-fourths panicked and she did _not sign on for this, fuck-you very much_.

“Oh. . . not a lot,” she quipped. Why was her throat so raw? “I got Youngblood out of a tight spot. Might’ve gotten a bit carried away with the whole. . . ecto-blasts to the skeletons thing.”

His eyes widened, and Walker growled as he scooped her up off the floor. The others were too busy chattering in their little cliques to notice (thank _fuck_ ) the maneuver. It probably would’ve been a lot more embarrassing if she wasn’t so goddamn _tired_. Penelope just slumped her head against his shoulder, content to let Walker do all the work as he angry-marched (which was a Thing he tended to do when he worried) over to a quieter corner of the store.

A big, calloused hand shifted against her ribs, and Penelope couldn’t help but smile when he kissed her forehead. “Yer an idiot – you’ve got a fever. How much energy didja use, Pen, _Jesus_?!”

She felt all floaty even though she hurt. Somewhere deep down, her brain was trying to tell her that was A Bad Thing. The lack of energy just made it all a bit vague. “I dunno. . . ‘s a _lot_ , I think.”

It came out a bit slurred. Penelope couldn’t hardly keep her eyes open anymore. Walker dropped down into a lawn chair, crossed his legs, and nestled her in the space they made. She grinned (like an idiot, her mind shrieked, they were in _public_ ) and snuggled against him. This was her _favorite_. He made such a good pillow. Her eyelids fell closed, sleep calling her like a siren as she huddled against Walker’s warm bulk.

“No, no, no!” Walker tapped her on the jaw, rocking a bit. “Ya gotta stay awake, baby girl. Remember? You can’t fall asleep until the fever goes down a little – that’s how your core starts to rest.”

Penelope scowled. “’m _tired_. Lemme _sleep_.”

She cracked her eyes open a bit and saw that Walker had managed a smile, the crooked one that he swore up and down wasn’t cute even though it most definitely _was_. “We can sleep in a minute, hon. Tell me how ya got so worked over first. Where was Bertrand when this was all happenin’?”

Worked over? What was he talking. . .?

Ectoplasm dribbled down her cheek, drying and cracking along her jaw. She could still see Youngblood’s face. How scared he looked. Ghosts didn’t usually have a taste – not a palatable one, anyway – but she would’ve sworn that she’d tasted blood in her mouth when he looked at her ~~cub cub cub baby that’s a baby protect keep safe wrong wrong don’t cry protect cub baby don’t let them **don’t let them**~~. They’d made him _cry_. What fucking monsters made a ten-year-old cub cry? Okay, so she made teenagers cry on a pretty regular basis but that wasn’t the same. . . right?

This was a slippery slope and morals made her head hurt.

“Bertrand fucked off when. . . when everything started going to hell. I fought some soldiers,” Penelope rasped. “I won.”

Walker hummed, leaning back so he could tuck her further against his shoulder. “Why’d ya fight ‘em in the first place?”

The scowl came back, angrier than ever. “They’re all _dicks_. All of them. So I blasted them. They’re not gonna be dicks anymore.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound too convinced. “What’d they do t’make ya mad? One cut yer hair or somethin’?”

She could still see his eyes. Big and green and _terrified_ and he’d been. . . “They made Youngblood cry. They tore off his arm. No one tried to help him.”

That got a bit more of a reaction. Walker stared at her, wide-eyed in shock. “Huh?! _That’s_ why y’carried him in here?!”

Penelope hummed an agreement, words slurring as exhaustion set in. “He was scared. Why’d they rip his arm off? He’s, like, an infant. Poor baby. . . scared little cub.” Her scowl deepened. “Bunch of _pricks_ – I smashed their heads in.”

Another kiss brushed against the top of her head, and she smiled when Walker laughed. “That ’a girl! Wish you’d a held back a bit, though. Yer shakin’ like a beat dog.”

That. . . wasn’t a lie.

She could feel her arms trembling, fingers so weak they couldn’t even grip the lapels on his jacket. Penelope still wasn’t sure she could move her legs. But, somewhere over in another corner, Youngblood and Technus were talking a mile a minute. The little boy ~~cub cub baby poor baby cub~~ didn’t sound nearly so scared anymore, a chirp taking over his words every now and again. So maybe it was worth it in the end.

“’ll be okay,” she murmured. “Can I sleep now?”

Walker’s big hand left her ribs and cupped her face. She could feel his frown against the top of her head, even though his thumb started tracing back and forth over her cheek, the one not cut open and crusted with ectoplasm. “Not yet, sugar. Yer like a bonfire. Jus’ keep talkin’ okay? What d’ya wanna talk about?”

Her head was swimming. She just wanted to _sleep_ , was that too much to ask? “Where the hell ‘ve you been? You weren’t at the prison. I got worried.”

No one could hear her, and she was tired, and everything was painted in Technicolor. That was the _only_ reason Penelope felt safe enough to say something. Because, honestly, she wouldn’t have gotten so drained if she hadn’t gone to the prison first. Panic tightened her throat when she remembered cornering a guard. “ _He’s not here!!”_ had been the scariest three words in existence. Of course, Penelope didn’t _do_ scared. She got mad instead. Meaning she had to beat the ever-loving shit out of some soldiers on her way out. Which in turn led to her being exhausted. Dammit, her life had been so much easier when she just didn’t care about people. This was a vicious cycle of bullshit.

Walker kissed her on the forehead again. She hummed, eyes drooping. He smelled like patchouli oil and cedar, smoke. The thumb on her cheek kept time. Back and forth, then back again.

“I was workin’ on a bust when the soldiers started comin’ through,” he explained. “Bullet an’ I got swept up in the rush to get out, an’ I couldn’ get back. Jesus, sugar, ‘m sorry. I should’a tried harder.”

. . . dammit, he really made the whole “not caring” thing difficult. Sometimes, when he was being a self-righteous, law-obsessed ass, she forgot why she’d started dating him in the first place.

This was not one of those times.

Penelope lifted her head a bit to glare at him. “No, you shouldn’t have. It’s dangerous in there. ’m glad you were out here. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Pen, honey, you _did_ get hurt.” One calloused fingertip traced the edge of the cut on her other cheek. “I could’a kept it from happenin’.”

She snorted and grinned, still kind of punch-drunk. “Please, I’ve gotten worse from Danny. I’ll be fine. ‘sides, you’re a big baby. I gotta keep _you_ safe, cowboy.”

Walker barked out a laugh that made his fangs look savage. “Oh, really? ‘cause I remember someone cryin’ over breakin’ her nail the other night.”

Scowling, Penelope buried her head in the crook of his neck again. “I didn’t _cry_. But those were my favorite French-tips – d’you know how hard it is to get nails that stay sharp?”

A big, calloused finger started rubbing at the dried ectoplasm on her jaw. Penelope scowled, weakly trying to push it away. Walker chuckled again. His voice rumbled against her forehead, a tiny purr building in his chest, and she felt herself relax. Against her will, of course. _Damn_ him and his sexy purr. And his sexy voice.

“Shhh, stay still, hon. I gotta get’cha cleaned up,” he murmured. “You’ve been bleedin’ like a stuck hog.”

And that stupid (read: cute) drawl.

“’m fine,” she growled. “Lemme sleep, dammit.”

Walker kept scrubbing at her cheek, just rough enough to make the wound sting, and shook his head. “Nuh-uh, sugar. Y’still got a fever. No sleepin’ ‘til it goes down, ‘kay baby doll? Jus’ keep talkin’ to me. What d’ya wanna do fer our next date, hmm? It’s your turn t’ pick.”

Her head was fuzzy, and she wanted to _sleep_ , but Penelope couldn’t help but smile a little at him. He could be so damn sweet when he tried, the jerk. She could hear his core thrumming under her ear, low and steady like his voice. Her fingers were shaking, but it didn’t stop her from reaching up to try and grip at his lapel. She managed to hold on for all of five seconds before her strength gave out.

Thankfully, though, it convinced Walker to stop rubbing at her cheek. He laced their fingers together, thumb tracing over the back of her knuckles. Penelope felt her smile widen a little. Because even though she hurt and her vision kept fading in and out, there was always this. The way their hands fit together and the smell of cedar and wood smoke that always clung to him. The way he like to hum under his breath. He might’ve been a rule-obsessed bastard, but he was _her_ rule-obsessed bastard, and that was what counted.

. . . shit, she was getting _sentimental_.

“I think,” she slurred, exhaustion dragging her eyelids down, “we should go dancing.”

Walker barked out a surprised laugh. “Dancin’? Hon, I ain’t good at dancin’ – got legs like a colt an’ no rhythm.”

That sounded right. He was graceful, in way, but only when he was fighting, and never in front of other people. Penelope forced her eyes back open to look at him, unhurt cheek pressed against the starched fabric of his coat.

“You don’t have to be _good_ at it. I just want you to dance with me.” She grinned drunkenly. “We can dance in the kitchen.”

Walker smiled back at her, that crooked one she loved so much, and started rocking back and forth. He let go of her hand to cup her cheek. “Really? Ya wanna dance with somebody that’ll step on yer toes?” he drawled, half-chuckling. “It ain’t pretty, hon, honest.”

Something warm and syrupy was building in her chest. It was probably the fever. But that didn’t stop Penelope from reaching up to hold his hand to her cheek, even though it made her arms shake with exertion. She felt like _shit_.

“I don’t care. Let’s. . . let’s get drunk and dance in the kitchen. We don’t even have to wear shoes. I’ll stand on your toes instead. I’ll. . . I’ll even let you put on that shitty country music you like.”

This was _actual_ sappy B-list rom-com nonsense and sounded like something a sloshed sorority girl might word-vomit, but Penelope couldn’t find it in herself to really care. No one was listening. She felt awful. But _Walker_ was here. And he was smiling at her, like she was beautiful and wonderful instead of a vicious, ugly bitch. And she just. . . .

She wanted to dance in the kitchen.

She wanted to dance in the kitchen, drunk and barefoot, to shitty country music just so he’d hold her like this a bit longer.

Holy shit, she’d turned into a sappy romance novel character. . .

Walker smiled again, but there was something scared in his eyes, and Penelope didn’t quite know what to make of it. Her mind was fuzzy. The world far away. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, started rubbing his thumb against her cheek again. It stung. She leaned into the touch anyway.

“Alright, baby doll, that’s what we’ll do,” Walker promised, and his voice sounded thick, choked. “We’ll dance all night. Y’just gotta promise you’ll stay awake a bit longer, ‘kay? Just stay awake for me, darlin’.

But she was so _tired_. She just wanted to take a bit of a nap, that’s all. Just wanted to rest for a _second_. Then she could wake up better and bitch about him making her look soft in front of everyone. Penelope tried to keep her eyes open as long as she could. They were sliding shut, though. Her body had stopped hurting so bad a little bit ago. She couldn’t figure out if that was a bad thing or not.

“Pen?! Pen, hon, stay awake. Stay awake for me, lemme see those pretty eyes.” Walker sounded scared – he never sounded scared – as he shook her. “Technus! Crap, Technus, come ‘ere an’ help me! C’mon, baby doll, don’t fall asleep. Okay? Just. . . jus’ stay awake, Pen, _please_.”

He started jostling her. Not hard, but enough to be annoying, and Penelope wanted to scowl but her face. . .? Wouldn’t listen? Her eyes were still sliding shut. She couldn’t force herself to stay awake. Someone else was talking. Muffled, underwater. But they didn’t matter. What mattered was she couldn’t feel Walker touching her anymore. Couldn’t feel warmth or pressure or even how his thumb rubbed against her cheek.

Everything was just _numb_.

“Ohhhhh, this is bad.” High-pitched, kind of obnoxious, but obviously male – Technus? “Warden, she needs ectoplasm. _Right now._ ”

“Pen’s got a funky metabolism but she’s tough, Technus.” Deep, rough, scared – Walker. “She can’t just take _any_ ectoplasm. Her body’ll just reject it, ‘specially after that last incident with the Phantom kid. We gotta find the right match.”

He sounded so _scared_.

Penelope didn’t want him to be scared.

So she dragged her eyes open. There was lead in her arms, everything numb, but she managed to focus on his face. There were stress-wrinkles around his eyes again, face half-angry half-terrified, and Technus looked legitimately _worried_ when she lolled her head to look at him. Behind them, Skulker and Ember were arguing about what they should do. Who they should get to help. She could just barely hear them over the whine of static in her ears.

“Wha’s matter?” she slurred. “’m _fine_ , dammi’.”

Technus’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. “She can still _talk?!!_ ”

Walker held her tighter. But she only knew that because she got closer to his face. Everything else was numb and heavy. Why was everything so _heavy_?

“I tried t’ tell ya she’s tougher’n boot leather,” Walker growled. “Ya jus’ don’ listen!”

Technus leaned towards her face. He put a hand on her forehead – she knew because she saw it land – and then jerked back. “That appears to be an understatement! I’ve never seen someone _talk_ through core-shock before!”

Core-shock?

Oh. . . .

Well, that explained a lot.

Penelope knew about core-shock. She just didn’t think _this_ was what it felt like. Dying was awful. Zero out of ten would recommend. So she just wouldn’t do it.

Nope.

No dying today.

“Uhhhh, why do I get the feeling I walked in on something important?”

Walker jerked. Her head lolled again. Someone was floating near the ceiling. White and black, a blob. Bright. Voice sounded young.

Phantom?

Shit, she hoped not.

Penelope tried to scowl and managed to slur out a, “g’dammi’” to show that, _no_ , she did _not_ want to deal with Phantom today. She didn’t want to think about being fat, covered in snot, and splattered across the walls. She didn’t want to think about puns, or his stupid smug grin, or the fact that her stomach knotted when she thought about how young he was.

She didn’t want him to realize that she was weak and _dying_ , or that she’d gotten to this point saving _Youngblood_ of all people.

A big hand brushed the hair out of her face. She could see black gloves. Walker, maybe? She wasn’t sure.

There were lots of people talking all at once. Loud voices, rough voices, scared voices. All bubbles and static popping in her ears. It suddenly turned funny when she figured out they sounded like the teacher from _Peanuts_ cartoons. She coughed out a pathetic, choking laugh. Poor little Charlie Brown. He missed that goddamn football every time.

That being said, _Zits_ and _Dilbert_ were her favorite guilty pleasures.

She was so tired. . .

Her head lolled because of course her neck muscles wouldn’t work. She felt like a statue covered in snow, stiff and unwieldy and cold. Everything was numb but it hurt too? It was like her body couldn’t quite make up its mind what to feel. She was hot, but she was cold, and everything moved like she didn’t have bones, but she was so _stiff_. The bubbles that sounded vaguely like Walker were rough. Loud. Too loud. Didn’t like.

She eyed the blobs around her with distrust.

Nope – she didn’t trust those blobs.

Too close to her. Didn’t like it. She had Walker. Yep, Walker and his arms and bubble-voice. She liked Walker. She _trusted_ Walker. Everyone else could fuck off.

There was another hand headed towards her face. Penelope growled. Tried to make her jaw click. The hand went away. Heh – take _that_ bastards.

Another one. Small. Tiny. A baby hand, the left one. A familiar hand. Youngblood cub? That sounded right.

Too many voices talking at once. White noise and static. Everything was numb-hurt. Too much ringing in her ears. But _this_ hand was nice. Small and warm. She could feel this hand. Smelled like cub. Oh, that was right, she protected the cub. Tiny cub, he’d been sad. He’d been crying. Skeleton soldiers were dicks. Rude bastards. So she’d punched them.

“Penelope? I dunno if you can hear me, but you’ve gotta let them help you, okay?” Little voice. Cub. Baby. Why was he scared? “You helped me, so they’re gonna help you. But you gotta let ‘em.”

Scared, sad little cub. She didn’t like it.

Nope.

No.

Cubs should never be sad; it was a rule.

Penelope whined in her throat and rolled towards the cub. Towards the little hand. A flash of metal. He yelped.

 _He yelped_.

Penelope snarled. Felt it rip out of her throat like a rusty blade. She forced her body to move, lunged towards the metal flash. The blobs cried out. The big arms tried to hold tight, but she twisted, kicked out and landed a solid blow to someone’s ribcage. She landed hard on the ground. The whining bubbles got louder. Scared, panicked.

She didn’t care.

Get the cub.

Keep cub safe.

A little body curled against her chest. Small, scared. He was shaking. She wasn’t quite so numb anymore. But everything felt heavy. So tired. Wanted a nap. One arm wrapped around her back, head under her chin. She purred, nuzzled the top of his head, scented him. Fear. Cub was scared.

Nope, couldn’t sleep, cub was scared.

“It’s okay!” Cub was talking, little voice, quiet but not so scared anymore. “I just got startled, that’s all. I don’ like needles. But it’s okay, Penelope, I promise! They’re just gonna help you, ‘kay?”

Help her?

Why would they help her?

Another flash of metal. Penelope growled, curled tighter around the cub. Her eyes burned. So tired. The bubbles were quieter. Someone talking. Bigger hands on her shoulders. Through her hair. Familiar – Walker. Knew Walker, trusted Walker. He was safe, would help keep cub safe.

Big hands held her arm out. A prick. A burn. Lots of green.

Penelope growled, whined. Didn’t like – green wasn’t safe. Not safe. She held the cub tighter. He chirped back at her. Cuddled closer. She purred, didn’t jerk away. Walker purred, too. They sat like that for a long time. The cub was heavy, smelled like sunshine. Happy. Warm.

So _sleepy_.

A big hand through her hair. Rough, fingers thick. Gentle, though, always gentle. Penelope leaned into it. Sagged back into the arms. Walker tucked his arms under both her and cub like they didn’t weigh anything.

Look at him and his upper body strength.

“’s okay, Pen. You can sleep now, doll, I gotcha.”

She held the cub tighter. Scowled even though her face didn’t want to do The Thing. Walker laughed, the stupid hot bastard. Kissed her forehead.

“He’s just fine, hon. Dropped off a little bit ago.” He purred some more, nuzzled against her temple with a quiet rumble. “Yer fever’s gone. Go to sleep. ‘ll wake ya up in a bit.”

Safe. Warm.

She buried her face against Walker’s chest – he still smelled like smoke and cedar – and tucked the cub closer.

Penelope finally went to sleep.

~*O*~

Danny couldn’t decide what he wanted his brain to focus on.

Sure, there was an all-powerful Ghost King threatening to destroy the Zone as he knew it and who’d sent soldiers to rip apart Amity Park. That wasn’t good. That was actually why he’d come to find the others in the first place.

On the other hand, Spectra had almost _actually freaking died_ in front of him an hour ago and had needed an ectoplasm transfusion to keep from, you know, leaving the mortal coil. Ethereal coil? He still couldn’t quite figure out if ghosts were dead people or just a really screwed up species.

After watching Spectra curl around Youngblood like a feral dog with her puppy, he was leaning towards the latter.

“So why did you guys need _me_ to give her ectoplasm, again?” he blurted. “’cause I feel like I’ve got real different thing going on in my body than the rest of you do.”

Walker grunted from his spot next to the sleeping pair, one hand still rested protectively on Spectra’s head. “Pen’s got a different metabolism than most’a us, punk. _An_ ’ she took some ‘a yer DNA t’ stabilize herself. You an’ yer screwed-up genes were the best bet we had.”

Danny nodded. Just because that seemed like the right thing to do, not because what the warden had just said made any sense. “Okay, okay. . . so what exactly did,” he made a vague gesture with his hand, “ _that_ to her? She’s not exactly weak.”

Johnny snorted off to Danny’s right. “She’s a dumbass and gave herself core-shock over a stupid _cub_ , that’s what happened.”

An actual _snarl_ ripped out of Walker’s throat, and the fact that ghosts were definitely _not_ dead people firmly cemented itself in Danny’s List of Obscure Ghost Things™. “Watch yerself, boy.”

“Whatever, gramps,” Johnny chuckled, hands raised in mock-surrender. “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em. She’d ‘ve been fine if she’d just let the soldiers take the kid. I brought ‘em through myself, saw most of what went down.”

The thought of letting the bone soldiers that had been marching through town get anywhere near a kid Youngblood’s age just sat _wrong_ in his bones. Danny grumbled to himself, still not used to the chest-deep growl that sometimes accompanied it. “What actually happened, Johnny? And if these soldiers aren’t nearly so strong, why are you all running from them?”

Johnny leaned forward, idly toying with the dog-tags around his neck. His eyes got a far-away look, misty. “The kid got caught off-guard I guess, couldn’t keep the soldiers from ripping off his prosthetics. They’re not strong, but there’s an absolute ton of them, and if you get caught you’re pretty much fucked. ‘s why we all ran here. They’re like roaches or ants, they just keep comin’.” Johnny paused and took a swig of a beer Danny hadn’t noticed before. “I’d gotten Kitty out, right, but I couldn’t just. . . look, kid, there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about the Zone or ghosts. Which is cool, you’re only, like, half of one. But one thing you gotta understand is you _don’t_ fuck around with cubs. Ever. Female ghosts get real. . . protective. It’s an instinct kinda thing.”

Danny blinked in shock. “Is _that_ why Spectra nearly bit Technus’s hand off? I thought it was because of the needle.”

Skulker snorted, and _no_ , Danny did _not_ forget he was there, how dare anyone insinuate such a thing. The jump was a reflex, that’s all. “Cubs are rare in the Ghost Zone, whelp. They’re guarded fiercely. The fact that Pariah didn’t order his soldiers to be lenient towards any cubs found is telling. He’s a monster, and he’ll stop at nothing to get the power he lost all those centuries ago.”

A slow-burning anger was starting to build in Danny’s chest. “If cubs are so damn important to you, then why do you bastards keep fighting me all the time? I dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m fourteen – I’m not exactly filing taxes and hitting a mid-life crisis here.”

Spectra growled in her sleep at his raised voice, curling one hand around the back of Youngblood’s head in a defensive motion. The little boy yawned and tucked his face deeper into the crook of her neck. One hand still touching Spectra – and it _that_ wasn’t a revelation that didn’t make him violently ill – Walker leaned forward in a warning.

“Yer older, punk,” he grumbled, as though it was the easiest answer in the world. “Yer at the age other ghosts start testin’ ya. Makin’ ya hone yer skills an’ get stronger.”

Danny narrowed his eyes, clenched his fists. “You mean this has all been just one giant _training exercise_ for you?! What the actual _hell_?!!”

“Humans ‘re so _soft_ on their cubs,” Walker snorted. “’s why y’all run like scared pups when we come ‘round. We’re makin’ ya strong. Think on it, kid, have any of us ever _really_ made it seem like we were gonna kill ya? I mean _really_ kill ya?”

Thinking back on it. . . no, they hadn’t. Other than Vlad, maybe, none of them had really pushed him to a breaking point before. Skulker and Ember both probably could’ve ended him if they’d set their minds to it. Spectra had fucked him up for. . . a long time, actually, but that was probably just her being a bitch, if you got right down to it. Johnny and Kitty seemed more like they were _bored_ than anything when he’d fought them, and Technus was actually kind of fun to fight once you got past all the cringey 80’s lingo. And, looking back, Youngblood seemed like he’d just. . . wanted to play? In his own screwed-up brat ghost kind of way.

Which, now that he knew how protective ghosts could get of cubs, explained why Ember had stooped so low as to be his “partner in crime” so to speak.

Danny groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “That’s _really_ fucked up, and I hate everything about this. I just want you to know that.”

Skulker chuckled and had the _audacity_ to ruffle his hair. “We wouldn’t expect anything less, whelp.”

“And you two!” Danny pointed at Walker and Spectra. “I don’t want to _ever_ see you two being all mushy in my presence again. It’s gross and weird and I _don’t like looking at it_.”

Walker scowled and looked vaguely offended. Johnny and Ember started cackling at the same time, leaning against each other. Even Skulker, Technus, and Poindexter got a chuckle or two out of it. Which, for the life of him, Danny couldn’t figure out what was so funny? Like, this was a rule-obsessed asshole who locked people up on false-charges and an absolute _bitch_ of a woman? In love? _With each other?_ How in the hell was that funny??!!

Johnny managed to get hold of his giggles just long enough to gasp, “Little man, you should see them at the Christmas party when Walker gets drunk! It’s a _riot_!”

Ember guffawed, pointing weakly with one hand. “Oh my gods, do you remember that time he got so drunk he forgot they were together?! He asked Penny out and fucking _cried_ when she said they were already dating!”

They burst into a new round of hysterical laughter.

Danny’s brain stopped working for a minute because, _holy shit_.

“He spent twenty minutes going on about how perfect she was!” Skulker grumbled, just barely holding on to his own laughter. “Spectra was so embarrassed, we all thought she’d spontaneously combust.”

. . . . this was the weirdest day of his fucking life and Danny had no idea how to process any of the emotions he was experiencing right now.

To his credit, Walker only faintly blushed, and draped his arm over Spectra’s shoulder, thumb idly rubbing at the torn fabric of her top. “Well some of us appreciate our partners, _Johnny_ ,” he jabbed. “An’ have y’all looked at my girl? She’s an eleven. Deal with it.”

Ember collapsed into a new round of hysterics. Johnny looked wounded. Skulker was amused, Technus was confused, and Danny wanted to down an entire bottle of bleach.

After everyone calmed down – well, everyone but Ember, who was still giggling to herself over in the corner – Danny took a deep breath and got down to what he’d come to the store for in the first place.

“Alright, guys, look. I know I’m not your favorite person in the whole world,” he began, clenching and unclenching his fingers to quell the anxiety in his stomach. “But what this Pariah guy is doing isn’t right. I want to _help_ you. I want to protect my home, my friends, my family. And I think I might have a plan to do it. But I’m gonna need help, too. So, who’s in?”

Silence. No one moved, everyone staring at the cheap cardboard fire light they’d circled around. Poindexter had started shaking, one hand pressed to the dragon-ghost’s snout. Skulker was very pointedly Not Looking At Anyone. Johnny just looked vaguely unimpressed.

The familiar anger in Danny’s chest started to build again. He stood and turned to leave. They were all cowards apparently, but they were _his_ cowards he supposed. So he’d save their ungrateful butts.

Then Walker spoke up from behind him. “What’s yer plan, punk?”

Danny whipped around in disbelief. The warden stared back, green eyes hard and unflinching. His arm was tight around Spectra and Youngblood. Protective. Comprehension dawned on Danny, and he smiled for the first time since he’d shown up in the cheap sporting-goods store they’d made home.

“It goes something like this. . .”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It’s one forty-five in the morning, and I had a test today, and I’m behind schedule on updating Danny Died, so here’s a blurb of a fucking 8000+ one-shot that my head vomited into Word tonight! 
> 
> Just in case anyone’s confused, this is definitively NOT set in the same universe as Danny Died. This is a whole separate AU (canon? I think this might actually be canon?) where ghosts are just a whole separate species with vaguely humanoid traits that I find super neat! Like, they can speak English and have a vague similarity in certain social situations (drinking, etiquette, holidays, etc.) that they’ve picked up from the humans. But they also have fangs and growl and protect their cubs like mama wolves and you can prY THAT HEADCANON FROM MY COLD DEAD FINGERS.
> 
> Also, gratuitous Insane Asylum (Walker/Spectra) because it’s me. They’re horrible garbage-bucket people, and they love each other a lot, and I’m TRASH. I will row this boat all by my damn self, fucking watch me. 
> 
> Y’all need to open your third eyes, DANNY, it’s a good ship. I’ll do what I want. . . . *vaguely grumbles into the distance*
> 
> Anyways, I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this blurb of a drabble, and I hope to pull all of you into my trash ship again soon! Also, school is picking up again, so there may not be another regular update to Danny Died for. . . a second. I apologize in advance for that. 
> 
> Leave a comment, a kudos, anything! See y’all in the next one!


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